Mea Maxima Culpa
by mickeyroonski
Summary: Dick and Lewis go to church and look for absolution


There were no tapestries on the wall. The smell of candles and incense was absent, and the sun didn't filter through multicolored pieces of glass. In fact, the sun didn't shine through at all. Through the simple wooden frames, there was only rain and clouds, swirling around the building, enveloping the air in a damp hug.

Really, the church should've been considered a barn. The high lofted ceilings felt familiar to Lewis, but they were plain and white, so it only gave him a notion of deja vu. The building itself was placed in the middle of a big open Pennsylvanian field, and when he first caught sight of it, he honest to God thought Dick prayed mixed among hay and horses and chickens.

"Come on, Lew." Blue eyes rolled when Lewis voiced his concern. "You know, pews do exist outside New York City."

The pews he saw now were beautifully varnished; they had a clean smell, and there were no kneeling benches connected to them. No Latin prayer book had been shoved in the pockets on the back of the pews in front of them. There wasn't even a place for them, only smooth solid wood greeted his eyes.

"Dick, I can wait at your place," Lewis said that morning, biting his lip and peeling an orange. "I don't exactly radiate faith." The last time he had been at church was before the war, alone, and he had knocked down a candelabra in the middle of communion.

Dick thought the last time he had been in a church was when he had married Kathy. He told Dick about the readings of the Gospel, the hushed 'thanks be to God' of the clergy, and how Kathy's mother had tipped over when it was time to kneel after the Rite of Peace.

It was quite a grand day. All the Catholic rituals were done perfectly, and Lewis had almost felt a twinge of peace, a flicker of faith. In reality, when he returned to the cathedral weeks later, hunkered down in a back pew, hands clasped to his mother's rosary and whispering whatever prayers he could remember, he had felt cold, rejected by an absent Father.

"I want you to come." Dick set down his paper, snapping Lewis out of his reverie. "Only if you're comfortable, but it would mean a lot." Dick smiled and glanced away.

Of course Lewis followed Dick to the quaint church in the middle of a Pennsylvania field, soggy with autumn rain.

In the pews Lewis had to stop from crossing himself before sitting down, and when he said Amen after the opening prayer was said, many turned to look at him questioningly. Dick smiled and tapped Lewis' hand when they turned back, but his attention rested on the wooden figure of Jesus, hung on the wall furthest from them.

Dick stared humbly, head bent slightly, hands clasped at attention. He was dressed in a white button down, the top button open, revealing just a sliver of collarbone. His tan trousers were ironed, as always, and a silver cross dangled from his neck. It was simple; he matched the church.

Most of the sermon was lost on Lew. Instead his gaze was intent on soft red hair, washing out the alabaster skin beneath it and popping the copper freckles that splayed across Dick's face. There was no shared prayers, no 'Amen' or "Peace be with you'; no signs of the Cross or chanting of Latin. In their place were stories and anecdotes of Jesus, with the occasional song thrown in. It was so quiet you could still hear the rain outside. When a baby cried the mother didn't rush out, embarrassed of her child in such a holy place. Women's heads were uncovered, their prayers sent seemingly directly to God, unbridled with the men's.

At the end, families left, drifting back through the countryside, smiling and talking, unfazed by the rain.

"See," Dick smirked when they shuffled out of the sanctuary. "I'm not a Quaker."

"I never said you were." Lewis huffed. He absently grazed a hand over the white walls, looking for Saints or Angels to appear on them, but finding none.

"What about Mennonite?" Lewis had stopped to glance at the calendar of church events posted on a chalkboard. It was devoid of Saint days, feasts, or holy days. It did have study group planned, as well as a family picnic. Lewis smiled.

"My mother's family was mennonite, but I wasn't raised that way." He shrugged. "This is mainline Protestant, as far as I can tell." He dabbed at his silver cross, waiting for Lewis.

"It's simple." _Pure._

"Thanks for coming." Dick helped Lewis put his coat on. For a dreadful moment Lewis felt dirty, being close to Dick. It was a pang, a religious smiting, reminding him of long Sunday nights in the bowels of his own church.

He swallowed his guilt and shimmied away from Dick, walking to the door. The rain greeted him, giving him air and space.

They walked in silence back to Dick's big open house. It was in a state of repair, with Dick diligently working on it every day. Nix had done everything he could to help, but mostly Dick just asked him to hand him things.

"I think I'll start painting soon." Dick pointed to the side of the house. "It needs a fresh coat of white."

"I can go and pick some up tomorrow, if you want." Lewis walked through the front door, smiling gently.

"Okay." Dick was nodding. "You know where we should go soon?"

"Where?"

"New York." Lewis looked up from some mail he was holding.

"Why?"

"I like New York." It was true. He liked the Statue of Liberty and Central Park; he even liked the whooshing subway cars and hot dog stands downtown. "It reminds me of you." He blushed but fought through it. "And,"

"And?" Lewis quirked at him.

"I want to go to your church." Dick had seen pictures of St. Patrick's and had been awed. Its Gothic steeples cut jagged lines in the New York skyline and contrasted with the sleek square skyscrapers that popped up around it. Dick would never say so, but it reminded him of Lew when he was angry or upset; it was consuming and powerful, and now Dick wanted to experience it.

"Oh." Lewis seemed confused.

"I've never been to a proper Mass before." Dick said this in a lofty voice, which made Lew chuckle.

"Yeah alright, alright." He nodded.

St. Patrick's was awash in people. Dick thought there had to be hundreds milling about with their Bibles and rosaries, bringing in the fall leaves and wind with every slam of the huge wooden doors.

Rows upon rows of pews took up the stone floor, and still above them, in the balconies were more seats. Effigies of angels lined the marble pillars and bright tapestries colored the altar so it jumped out among the gray stone.

"There's good old Patty." Lewis pointed to a particularly large statue of a man, rather a saint, who reminded Dick of Santa. In fact every saint he saw reminded him a little of Santa Claus. They all had beards. "I used to get in trouble for calling him that."

Dick imagined a little Lewis Nixon running around the well-dressed adults, a nanny chasing after him frantically. He thought of Lewis being baptized, his head doused with holy water and oil. He wondered vaguely if he cried when the cold water was poured on his small head. It was probably one of the only times Lewis was held by his mother.

"Do you remember your first communion?" Dick asked as he went to sit down in a pew far, far away from the front. Two huge pillars with marble bars connecting them separated the congregation from seeing all of the holy altar. Clergy milled about, their long heavy robes swaying to the floor.

"Mhm." Lewis seemed frozen for a second, then quickly knelt and crossed himself before sitting down. "I spilled the wine on my tie."

"Isn't that a sin?" Dick grinned.

"It was to my mother." Nix elbowed Dick. "Afterwards I was rushed home and thoroughly cleaned before the communion party."

"Party?" Dick tilted his head.

"Anything for a party." Lewis pulled down the little kneeling bench and gingerly knelt down, hands clasped in front of him. "It's actually pretty common, for Catholics."

"Am I supposed to?" He gestured to where Lewis was.

"No, no, I'm just," He raised his hands. "Keeping up appearances."

Dick watched as Lewis took out his rosary and dutifully said the Lord's Prayer, his hands rounding around the deep pinks beads. If he didn't know Lew, he'd say Lewis was deep in prayer. When he moved onto Hail Mary's, Dick noticed the way his head tipped down, how his fingers brushed against the beads softly, and he sighed.

When he was done, when his amens were said, Dick moved just a fraction closer to him. Lewis was silent as the Mass started. The big brass organ behind them startled Dick from his thoughts when it blasted a hymn into the big old cathedral. Lewis chanced a smirk his way as he stood up to sing.

When it came time for communion, Lewis leaned over and whispered, "Technically you're not allowed to have communion unless you've been baptized as a Catholic, but who's gonna check?" Before Dick could protest, he was being pulled up by Nix, who hurriedly got in line behind the many bodies lining up to receive the Holy Sacrament.

"Do you actually think that's really the body of Christ?" Dick didn't say is skeptically, only curiously.

"It's supposed to be holy." Lewis grimaced. "I don't really want to eat Jesus' body." Dick stifled a laugh.

"Blood of Christ, cup of salvation." The priest made the sign of the cross as Dick drank a swig of wine. It was sweet and tasted just a little bitter. Dick felt his cheeks go red and he glanced over at Lewis, who had gone before him, but was now kneeling with his head down and hands together. Dick sat there patiently, looking at Lew's own flushed cheeks.

"In the name of the father, son, and holy spirit, amen." Lewis went to leave, but stopped when he saw Dick still kneeling besides him. He stared just for a moment, before murmuring, "Not too tipsy off the wine are you?"

"Oh, come on." Dick pushed Lew away from the bench, while more people filed in, hoping for absolution.

"There's breakfast downstairs, if you want to grab something." Lewis said after the last hymn was sung and everyone had left.

"Let's go out to eat." Dick said over his shoulder. He was gazing at a stained glass window, depicting several angels.

"Don't stare too long." Lewis came up to where Dick was standing. "Michael will smite you."

"Is that who this is?" The angel had a long silver sword. He looked more like Achilles than an angel.

"Yeah. The most powerful archangel. You guys don't believe in angels do you?" Lew looked at Dick.

"I think we acknowledge them." Dick looked reverently at Lewis. He had his rosary around his neck, peeking out from his collar and tie. He glanced over at a stack of papers. "What are those?"

"Mea maxima culpa." Lewis recited. "My greatest fault."

"What?"

"Confession pamphlets for students." Lewis picked one up. "We even had to write out our greatest faults on paper."

A shiver ran down Dick's back. "What did you write down?"

There was a long hard pause. "I don't remember." He headed out of the sanctuary, leaving the stack of papers behind.

Dick swallowed. He knew what Nix had written. Nix had put himself as his greatest fault; every cell and atom of Lewis Nixon. Lewis raged against himself, self-loathing pouring out of his skin at every minute. Sometimes he was able to put it away, when Dick held his hand or brushed his hair out of his face. But Dick saw it, he read it over and over in his face, like a favorite passage from an old book. Everytime he saw it, it felt like a stone in the pit of his stomach.

Yet he remembered the quietness in Lew's face as he prayed. He saw his hands made soft by the pink beads that looked like bruises in his hands. He followed Lew out of the church, watching his sloped shoulders brace against the September chill.

They skipped breakfast, with Lew's mood decidedly turned down after Mass. Dick patiently walked with him, up the stairs to the apartment Lew kept in the city. Money meant privacy, and Dick was grateful.

"Thanks for taking me." Dick sat on the couch, watching Lewis take off the rosary, followed by his tie and shoes.

"Of course." Nix rubbed the back of his neck.

"What is it?" Dick went to stand up, but stopped when Lew turned to face him.

"You've always believed in God?" His voice was focused.

"Yes."

"Me too." Lewis crossed his arms.

"What's wrong with that?" He couldn't help seeming a little offended.

"That's not it; the fact that there's a God, that's not," He sighed. "I don't know Dick." He turned again, spinning on his socks to face the window.

"Yes you do." Dick did stand up this time, and put a hand on Lew's shoulder. "It's just me, Lew. I want to know."

"I guess," He squirmed. "I guess I just want to be forgiven."

"For what?" Dick squinted, nervous at what was coming.

"For everything, for being me." Lewis was quiet, but he was wired and serious. "Even after all of the shit that church put me through, I still want to beg for forgiveness at the foot of that sanctuary." He twisted his mouth around the bitter words.

"We all want to be forgiven, Lew." Dick danced around the obvious glaring problem.

"That's not what I mean." He snapped, then recoiled. He looked up at Dick, his eyes hard around the edges.

"Yeah." Dick looked down. "I know." He slowly went for Lew's hand, entwining their fingers like a prayer. "Lewis." He said it deliberately, clearly.

"Yes?" Lewis swallowed.

"God, does not hate you." When Lewis sputtered, Dick stopped him. "Don't do that, I know you, I know what you're thinking."

"Dick, stop." Nix looked away, slipping his hand from Dick's.

"No, you stop." Dick's breathing became heavier, and he felt a small ball of anger bubbling in his chest. "Don't you dare do that to yourself, or to me."

Lewis' head whipped around. "I didn't say anything."

"I know you, Lew. I see the way you look at yourself. I'm not stupid." He glared. "I hear the way you talk about yourself, the way you drink, the way you try to push me away."

"That makes you think I believe God hates me?" Lewis crossed his arms, trying not to let his chest explode in emotion.

"You just want to be forgiven, Lew? What is that supposed to mean?" Dick shrugged his shoulders. "You really think God is going to send you to Hell? For what?"

Lewis didn't saying anything, only shook his head, clenching his fists and biting his tongue.

"Divorcing Kathy? Kathy who only wanted you for your money? Who took your life away?" The words were tumbling out of Dick's mouth now. "For loving me? For being there for me?" Even Dick paused at this. The church spat hellfire at anyone who dared challenge them. He felt guilt rise up in his throat like heartburn.

"No."

"Then what?" Dick was incredulous.

"I'm not," Lewis paused. "I'm not good, Dick."

"Oh, please, Lew." He said it loudly, but his heart seized at the words. "That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" Lewis spat. "What have I done in my life? I screw up my relationships, my mother and father can't be bothered to call me, and I've been thinking, why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'?"

"Am I really so awful?"

"No!"

"I've never felt God. Never." Lewis laughed. "Running in the fields of France, jumping out of a burning plane over Germany, nothing! Rotting in Bastogne? Silence. Why?"

"That's not how God works." Dick knew God was with him when he brought Lewis back to him, after he jumped out of that burning plane.

"You're saying you've never felt God?"

"No." He felt God right now. He felt God when he swam in Austrian waters and when he bathed in Paris. He felt God when he watched Lewis sleep.

"Maybe he doesn't hate me." Something flashed in his eyes. "Maybe he doesn't even know who I am."

"That's not how He works either." Dick rumbled. "And He does."

"What?"

"He knows who you are." God brought Lewis back to Dick so many times; of course He knew Lew.

"I'm glad you're so sure." Lewis grimaced. It was as if the air whooshed out of him and he flopped onto the couch.

"You don't need to be forgiven." Dick clenched his jaw. "You don't need to love God." He sat down on the couch, putting his arm around Lewis. "It's not how it works. It's God's job to love you."

"That's not what they told me." Lewis leaned his head on Dick's shoulder.

"Well I'm telling you." He brushed his hands through Lewis' hair. "And you haven't done anything wrong."

Lewis chuckled. "I don't know about that, but the sentiment is nice."

"You're not going to Hell." Dick frowned.

"You don't have to save my soul, Dick." Lewis grabbed Dick's hand, brushing his fingers over his palm softly.

"Yeah, I do." Dick smiled down at Lew, who was laughing. They sat like that for a while, and soon Dick heard Lewis snoring softly.

Dick sighed, and settled deeper into the couch. It had started raining and he could hear cars and buses rushing by on the street below. Lewis was warm and molded to him easily. Dick hoped that he wasn't dreaming of hellfire and sin; he hoped he wasn't drowning in heat and shame and grief.

Just before Dick drifted off to sleep, he silently prayed for God to show up, to fill Lewis with peace, or calm. Just this once.


End file.
